But this word has a different meaning in academic matters: an “argument” is not at all about emotions, but rather about logical reasoning. A philosopher, or a scientist, or a lawyer produces an argument to support a statement. If he believes that the planet Mars once supported life, he will state his reasons in a calm and neutral manner. If another scholar believes the very opposite, he will produce a different argument, devoid of passion.
The ability to produce arguments, and analyze arguments written by others, is central to philosophy, if not to humanity. Yet this very skill is sadly not so common: C.S. Lewis wrote that it would be naive if one “supposed that argument was the way to keep” a reader from embracing falsehood. Lewis continues:
That might have been so if he had lived a few centuries earlier. At that time humans still knew pretty well when a thing was proved and when it was not; and if it was proved they really believed it. They still connected thinking with doing and were prepared to alter their way of life as the result of a chain of reasoning.
Instead of logical categories, an average human
has been accustomed, ever since he was a boy, to having a dozen incompatible philosophies dancing about together inside his head. He doesn’t think of doctrines as primarily “true” or “false,” but as “academic” or “practical,” “outworn” or “contemporary,” “conventional” or “ruthless.”
“Jargon, not argument, is” what keeps sloppy or lazy thinkers from truth, from rationality, and from accuracy.
